A LONDON YEAR

* Ow, don't they look lovely ? All lords, 'spect! *
' Lords ?' says a man's voice in deep scorn.

' Dooks ! Most of 'em is dooks.'

'Go on ! * says a woman.

The elegant people from the other side of Ascot
continually cross the course on their way to club tents.
They plunge into the hearty crush.

* Oh, ain't she lovely ! Look at this one coming
in the grey dress. Oh my, she forgot to put on a
petticoat! If the Queen sees that she'll be turned
away !'

This causes a sensation ! The speaker is asked to
explain,

* They're awful strict !' she says. c Once Queen
Victoria—or was it Queen Alexandra—saw a lady
as she could see through and she called her up to the
royal box and gave her a real old dressing down
. . . told her off proper, she did. Said, " We are
not amused." That's how they talk, you know—
We ! And the lady left in disgrace ! *

A large woman standing next to me whispers,
* They've got it all wrong, but I never argue with
people !'

I look at hera and think how lucky it is for people
that she never argues. She is like three prima
donnas in one. There are no sleeves to her enor-
mous knitted jumper and her arms, like the legs of
a giant which have been vaccinated by a mad doctor,
terminate in hands which hold a ridiculous, small
paper fan.

* Lovely sight, ain't it ? Some folks say it ought to
be done away with, but—I never argue. You must
have a head to everything, mustn't you ? That's
nature. I like a head that's worth looking at—ow,
here they come ! *

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